The moving and funny play Loon tells a universal story, but it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Kate Braidwood plays a lonely man who falls in love with the moon, and her performance is a virtuoso accomplishment of maskwork. With no speaking and without the use of facial expressions, she makes the audience live and die with the dreams and disappointments of a lovelorn hunchbacked janitor. The mask is almost impossibly expressive – its sad wide eyes, a prominent bald head and a mouth locked in a permanent pained grin tell of a lifetime of loneliness. The soundtrack employs expert music choices and a host of silent film and oldtime radio tricks to assist in winning the audience’s sympathy for this isolated and beautiful lunatic.

The janitor has few possessions: an urn containing his mother’s ashes, a transistor radio that plays old ballads, and a telephone that delivers bad news from the matchmaking service he is subscribed to as Bachelor 378. He dances alone in his room, puts on a cape and goggles and dreams of adventures in outer space. In one fantastic set piece, he acts out the last scene of Casablanca with his mop. The dancing is a marvel to watch; nobody wearing such a heavy mask and costume should be able to dance that fluidly. Especially not to mass bhangra hit “Beware of the Boys”, in one moment of hilarious incongruity.

After being stood up by a date, the janitor discovers his one true and abiding love – the moon itself, the other loon of the title. He carries the luminous orb to feed ducks in the park, watch fireworks, and even to bed. But the moon starts to wane, and the script’s metaphor of the changing phases of the moon for the fading of love is both original and utterly heartbreaking. If you loved the wordless storytelling in Pixar films, this is your opportunity to see the same feat done live. You’ll never see the moon in quite the same way again.

Catch Loon at the Fringe Festival, with five more shows from Sept 9-16! Details here.

Visit the Vancouver Fringe Festival website.